


I'll Keep Breathing Until My Heart Stops (I almost died the day I lost you)

by ainewrites



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst, Childbirth, I cried like three times, not graphic though, so I needed to fic it, the finale gave me EMOTIONS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 05:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainewrites/pseuds/ainewrites
Summary: She wasn't supposed to get attached.This was always the plan, she knew it was coming, she was never supposed to get attached. So why does it feel like her heart is currently trying to rip its way from her chest?





	I'll Keep Breathing Until My Heart Stops (I almost died the day I lost you)

She wasn’t supposed to get attached.

It was the plan all along, to send the baby away; to send her to Gus, who’s somewhere on the Eastern side of the country: Montreal, maybe, or Toronto. Wynonna doesn’t know, and that’s the whole point: no one knows. No one but Perry, who’s never coming back to Purgatory, and Gus herself. The kid is safe, far outside the Ghost River Triangle, far enough away that the more human kind of monsters won’t be able to find her.

It was always the plan. Wynonna wasn’t supposed to get attached.

So why does it feel like her heart is currently trying to rip its way from her chest?

-

She’s trying to hide it, and she think she’s being semi-successful. Waverly hadn’t noticed the two pretending-they’re-not-contractions on the walk slash jog up to the homestead, and Wynonna was so winded anyways it was easy to play them off.

But it’s getting harder, now.

They please-let-them-not-be-contractions are sharp enough to take her breath away, and Wynonna is no stranger to pain. She does wonder why they’re coming on so quickly and so strongly, because wasn’t labor supposed to take hours? But maybe while she was, well, _not existing_ labor started, as the universe saying “fuck you” one more time, just to really drive the point home. She knows Nicole has noticed something, she’s pretty sure Waverly has, too, but neither of them are saying anything because Wynonna isn’t saying anything, and she’s not going to say anything.

Labor takes hours, even if you may have started it while not existing. And there’s a freaking demon king rising, and two Widows who are out for blood, and apparently Bobo is back, the asshole, so she can pretend she’s not in labor while they deal with this.

She presses a palm into the side of her stomach, and she’s not sure if it’s to sooth the baby, or herself.

-

Her entire body _hurts_. She figured it would hurt; shoving something the size of a watermelon through a very small hole would lead to unpleasant sensations after said watermelon sized thing has been pushed out. Anyone could figure that out with the most basic knowledge of how childbirth worked.

But other parts of her body hurt, too. Just the motion of rolling off the pool table causes waves of pain almost as bad as contractions through her body, like she’s just done the hardest, longest workout of her life. The muscles in her legs are shaking with adrenaline, the muscles everywhere else shaking with exhaustion, and she’s got the throbbing ache of overused muscles somewhere under her belly button, probably from pushing. She tries not to look at the door where Waverly had just disappeared through, tries not to notice the heavy sobs gathering in her chest. She closes her hand around Peacemaker and chokes them down through gritted teeth, wrapping a pillow in a pink blanket. She knows the Revenants are coming, she knows that Rosita ran to get them, and she needs to keep her baby _safe_.

That’s why she’s doing it. That is why she is willingly ripping a hole through her own heart.

To keep Alice safe.

-

She’s pregnant; how pregnant, none of them know exactly, but pregnant enough that her doctor keeps talking about how _you only have a few weeks left_ , and pregnant enough that she can no longer hide it behind bulky coats and men’s sweaters. She’s sitting in the passenger seat of Nicole’s patrol car, and she’s not meeting Nicole’s eyes, despite Nicole’s attempt to make eye contact.

“So, that’s my plan,” Wynonna finishes, picking at a loose thread on the hem of her pants. “Perry owes me a favor, and Gus…she said yes.”

Nicole shifts in her seat. “Does Waverly know? Does…does Doc?”

“No.” Wynonna finally looks up, finally meets the gaze of the concerned deputy sitting in the small car beside her. “I can’t tell them. Not yet. They…don’t need to spend all this time being sad about it. And we have bigger things to worry about.”

“So why are you telling me?”

“I need a getaway car,” Wynonna says, “chances are, I am going to hurt in my most tender of places, and I will not want to be wandering around the back fields of Purgatory.” She tries to quirk the corner of her mouth up into a smirk, but something about the idea causes a little wiggle of discomfort in her chest.

“And you?”

“And me, what?”

Nicole reaches over like she’s going to lay a hand on Wynonna’s shoulder, then stops, clearly thinking better of it. “Are you okay with this? Because Wynonna, I know you want to protect her, but we could protect her, too.”

“It’s fine.” Wynonna huffs out a breath. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” At Nicole’s pointed look, Wynonna throws up her hands. “Look, literally everyone in Purgatory wants this baby for some reason. The Order, the Revenants…We can protect it, but not as much as taking it outside the Ghost River Triangle can.”

“And if-?”

“It’s half demon baby that can’t cross the border without agonizing pain?”

Nicole’s cheeks go a little pink. “Yeah.”

“We’ll figure it out if that happens.”

Somewhere inside Wynonna’s stomach, the baby decides to pummel her internal organs. She presses a hand into her side and the baby stills, as if she soothed it. She tells herself it was only a coincidence. Tells herself the little bubbles she feels in her chest have to do with indigestion, and not attachment.

“I won’t get attached,” she promises, partly to Nicole, partly to herself.

Nicole doesn’t look convinced, but she nods.

“Okay,” she says, and digs around for a piece of paper to take notes. “Tell me what I can do.”

-

Wynonna can feel blood leaking down her leg, and is so tired she can barely stand. She leans against Dolls, taking shuffling steps, the sound of the helicopter echoing in her ears.

 _She’s safe, she’s safe, she’s safe_.

Wynonna should feel better. So why doesn’t she?

“There’s Doc,” Dolls says, and Wynonna shakes her head, as if to clear it. She’s not looking forward to this conversation, isn’t looking forward to the emotions she knows it will bring, but Doc is sitting against the wall and he needs to know.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No.” Wynonna gently untangles herself from Dolls, pats his arm once, and begins her slow, pained shuffle up the hill. “I need to talk to him alone.”

-

_“Did you give our daughter a name?”_

_“Her first name is Alice. Alice Michelle. After your mother and mine.”_

_“We’re going to break this fucking curse, Doc. So she never has to.”_

-

It’s barely six, but she climbs into bed as soon as they get back to the homestead, anyways. No one blames her. Everyone else can feel the events of the day dragging on their own energy, as well. They pack themselves around the dining room table, talking in low whispers, and Wynonna tries not to notice. She sits in bed and drinks her first cup of coffee in too fucking long, and lets the exhaustion dragging on her eyes wash over her. It helps the ache a little bit.

At one point, Waverly comes to check on her. She perches on the edge of Wynonna’s bed and reaches out to place a hand on Wynonna’s knee, under the blankets.

“How are you doing?” She asks, the concern in her voice clear.

Wynonna shifts in bed, raising an eyebrow. “I am currently sitting on a bag of frozen peas, and I have maxi pads lined all the way up my asscrack. How do you think I’m doing?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Wynonna knows. She knows what Waverly’s really asking, but she can’t answer that question right now. She can’t. Even the thought causes tears to prickle behind her eyes, and she’s not going to cry, not again.

“I’m sore, and my vagina hurts, and I’m exhausted,” she says, and she knows her look is pointed.  Waverly luckily gets it, nods and tells Wynonna that if she needs anything, to just call, and leaves her alone. Wynonna sets aside her cup of coffee and rubs her face in her heads.

She’s just tired, and high on all the emotions that come with childbirth, and she wasn’t supposed to get attached. It won’t hurt this much in the morning.

Right?

-

Labor fucking _sucks_. For some reason, Wynonna didn’t think it would hurt this badly; she’s had her finger cut off with _garden shears_ , labor couldn’t be as bad as having an actual body part removed, right?

But it hurts. It really, really hurts. And it’s not just her stomach, either, it’s her entire midsection, stomach and back, the pain radiating down her legs. Wynonna hurts and she’s kind of angry and she’s scared, and then the only person who kind of knows what they’re doing smashes Waverly’s head against the pool table, and Wynonna couldn’t do anything. Didn’t see it coming. It sends terror crashing through her veins, sharp enough to take her breath away.

And even when Waverly’s back up and Peacemaker fires and Rosita runs, she’s still so scared. Because there was supposed to be an actual doctor, someone who knew what they were doing, not just her sister. And Wynonna loves Waverly, and trusts her, and wants her with her, but she never wanted Waverly to deliver her baby. What if something goes wrong?

The pain keeps coming. At some point, Wynonna rolls off her back and onto her side, and Waverly’s trying to be calm and yet Wynonna can tell that she’s frantically Googling, trying to figure out what to do, and there’s pain and fear.

Wynonna’s not religious, isn’t sure if she believes in a God or gods or whatever, but in this moment, she thinks she may be praying, the one sentence going through her mind again and again.

 _Please let everything be okay_.

-

No one leaves the homestead that night. Dolls is asleep on the couch and Jeremy is curled up in the armchair and Waverly and Nicole are in Waverly’s room, and Doc is at the table, maybe still awake, maybe not, but Wynonna can’t see him from where her room is. But it’s because he may be awake that she tries to cry silently, tries not to make any noise. She knows he would come, would try to comfort her, but she can’t make him do that. He needs to be comforted, too.

Wynonna isn’t sure if Waverly is just coming to check, or if her sister heard her crying, but Waverly peeks around the propped open door, whispering into the darkness.

“Wynonna? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Wynonna says, but she’s _not_ , and just the words cause the floodgates to open, and everything is spilling out.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Waverly says, and her sister crawls up to Wynonna and wraps her arms around her, and Wynonna curls up in the embrace and _cries_ , sobs big enough to hurt her throat, her chest.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Wynonna whispers when the tears have finally, finally dried up. Waverly’s hands, rubbing Wynonna’s back, still.

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t supposed to love her.”

-

There’s the barest seconds of silence, but it’s enough to send a bolt directly into Wynonna’s heart. And then, there’s the gurgling, furious cry of a newborn, and relief makes Wynonna laugh. Waverly’s crying and trying not to as she lifts the squirming, red, _tiny_ baby up, chokes through happy tears on her next words.

“It’s a girl,” she says, and deposits her directly into Wynonna’s arms.

She’s round, and chubby, still screaming over the injustice of being born, and she’s the most beautiful thing Wynonna’s ever seen.

And she knows, instantly, as soon as she lays eyes on the baby’s face. Her father is not the Revenant, arrogant and mocking. She is not a child born of an alcohol-hazed fumble in the dirty back room of a bar. She is Doc’s, Wynonna knows this in her bones, and almost weeps in relief, kissing the baby’s damp, wispy dark hair.

“She’s beautiful, Wynonna,” Waverly says, still crying, still smiling, and Wynonna nods.

“She is,” Wynonna agrees, and the baby stops crying, opens bright, bright eyes, and it feels like Wynonna’s chest is cracking open, because she’s barely know this little girl for two minutes, but how the hell is she supposed to give her up, when it already feels like she has become Wynonna’s entire world?

-

Wynonna sleeps for about two days straight, and regret and loss tings her dreams, leaving an ashy taste on her tongue when she wakes. Loss is understandable, but it’s the regret that comes by surprise. Not regret for sending Alice away, no. Wynonna does not regret keeping her daughter safe, not for one moment. No, it’s regret that she had to send her away, that she didn’t just go and find Demon Clootie and shoot him in his decrepit corpse face like in the original plan.

And once she does get out of bed, everyone is hesitant around her. Jeremy can stammer and barely meets her eyes, like he’s not sure what to say; Dolls is constantly cheerful, probably to try and keep her spirits but, but it’s still an emotion that is very odd on him; both Waverly and Nicole are overly concerned and constantly asking if she’s okay; and Doc. Doc, who hasn’t looked at her since the talk after Alice was given over to Perry, Doc, who never knew the plan and therefor, never had time to adjust to the idea.

Wynonna goes looking for him. She has to. They’re parents, now, but they have no child. And they’re both taking it hard, but in very different ways.

Doc is standing in the yard, a row of cans and bottles lined up on their fence. He shoots them, one after another, not missing one, the clatter and crash almost as loud as the gunfire in the still morning air. He doesn’t look at her as she comes to stand beside him, only acknowledges she’s there with the slightest of movements, the barest shrug of his shoulder.

“We’ll get her back, Doc,” Wynonna says, and Doc lowers his gun. There are tears, shiny and wet in the corners of his eyes, and he wipes them away. Wynonna reaches out, grabs him by both his arms, and looks him in the eye.

“We’re going to break this curse, and we are going to get her back.”

-

_“I didn’t think it would be this hard.”_

_“You’re the coolest thing I’ve ever done.”_

-

She knows what she needs to do. Once she can ride her motorcycle again without it feeling like someone is aggressively punching her in the crotch with the slightest bump in the road, she gathers up everything she needs. Jeremy is the only one she tells, everyone else would worry. And she only tells him because he comes out of the house in time to see her leaving. He stands there, squinting in the late afternoon sunlight, looking mildly confused.

“So, your mom?” He says, shading his face with a hand. “I thought she left when you guys where little?”

“She did.” Wynonna straps her bag to the back of the motorcycle, and as she does, her sleeve rides up on her wrist. On it, a name is written in black sharpie, a reminder as to why she’s doing this. Why she’s going to find the woman who caused her so much hurt when she was so young.

“She might have information about Clootie.” Wynonna swings a leg over the motorcycle, and looks at Jeremy. “If Waverly asks, just tell her I’ll be back soon. Don’t tell her where I’m going.”

“Okay,” Jeremy says, sounding unconvinced, and Wynonna knows that the second Waverly presses him a bit too hard, he’ll break and tell. But hopefully, it’ll be at least an hour before that happens. “Good luck, I guess.”

Wynonna just nods, and drives off, down the driveway and onto the road, out of Purgatory, out of the triangle, toward the person who may have the answers that Wynonna needs. The answers that will end the curse, and get Wynonna’s daughter back.

The sleeve of her jacket rubs the words written on her wrist.

 _Alice Michelle_.

A name, a reminder, a heartbreak, and the reason why Wynonna is going to fight until her dying breath to end this curse.

-

TO: ggibson@gmail.com

FROM: whiskeybacondoughnut@gmail.com

Her name is Alice Michelle.

Keep her safe.

**Author's Note:**

> That finale, though...woo, it was emotional. Way more so than I came prepared for. So I had to write something about it.


End file.
